


Apartment 824C

by peterparkr



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [5]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, febuwhump 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22610611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterparkr/pseuds/peterparkr
Summary: Peter flicks on the light. There’s still no movement.He approaches Morgan's baby-sitter slowly, eyes glued to the back of her head. There’s something wrong—she’s too still, and some of her hair is matted. It looks damp. There's a shattered lamp on the floor.They aren't the only ones in the apartment.(Febuwhump Day 5: Intruder)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620064
Comments: 13
Kudos: 386





	Apartment 824C

Peter’s life was a lot easier before Tony decided to move out of the city.

Both May’s apartment and Empire State University were within easy swinging distance from the tower. It was the perfect destination for when he was too bloodied to show up at May’s without worrying her or at his dorm without raising eyebrows. 

He used to stumble in through one of the tower’s windows on rough nights and Tony would be waiting—he always knew somehow, probably from the suit, but he claimed it was intuition. Then Peter would insist that he could stitch himself up and Tony would roll his eyes and grab a first aid kit.

It all changed when Tony and Pepper moved into a house upstate a few months after Morgan turned two. Peter doesn’t begrudge them that. He understands that it’s a better environment for their family. He only sulked about it in the privacy of his own room for a few days before getting over it (almost) completely. 

The compromise came after footage of Spider-Man stumbling through ESU’s main quad after a nasty encounter with a giant lizard showed up on the Daily Bugle’s homepage. It came in the form of an apartment.

Peter’s pretty sure Tony bought it for him, though he denies it—says it's for nights when there is business to attend to in the city that keeps him or Pepper there late into the night. Peter’s only seen them in it twice. And the first was when they were showing it to him.

The apartment is a few blocks from the tower—on the top floor of the building, apartment 824C. Tony gave him a key and told him he could crash at it whenever. It’s usually empty, the street below doesn’t get much foot-traffic (especially late at night) and there’s a cabinet stocked full of medical supplies inside. It’s sort of perfect for Peter’s needs. 

But it’s not the same as the tower. Peter misses the time with Tony.

* * *

He lands with a groan on the apartment’s balcony. One of his hands eases the sliding door open while the other clutches the outside of his thigh. There’s a nasty gash there, deeper than he would like it to be. Blood is already seeping through the webbing he plastered over it. 

He limps over to the cabinet and starts rummaging through. He tucks a suture kit under his arm and sticks a bandage pack between his teeth.

“Intruder alert.”

If someone had asked Peter six years ago, he’d probably have said that so-called ‘superheros’ would be more calm under pressure than an average civilian—not have much of a startle response. His ascent into vigilante infamy pained him with the opposite trajectory. It might be due to the sensitive nature of his spidey-sense. Or the fact that most surprises tend to come with negative consequences in his particular hobby.

He spins around, dropping the items in his hands and knocking more supplies off the shelves in his haste. 

The first thing he registers is a little hand, palm up facing him. There’s a repulsor glove on it. 

He takes a deep breath, sagging back against the cabinet in relief. “Morgan—”

“Intruder alert!” She makes an approximation of a repulsor blast sound and then giggles. 

Peter closes his eyes. He can feel his rapid heartbeat in his thigh. It’s not a pleasant sensation—like all his blood is pooling in that area and being forcibly pumped out of his body. The worst part is that’s not far from the truth.

There’s a pitter patter of footsteps approaching him, so he lowers into a slight crouch, staying off his bad leg as much as possible, just in time to scoop Morgan up into his arms.

He sets her on the counter amidst the scattered medical supplies. “Are your parents here too, Mo?”

She shakes her head and grabs a roll of bandages by the end, letting the rest drop to the floor. 

“You’re here alone?”

She shakes her head again. Peter’s thoughts are coming slow—his brain is firing somewhere short of optimal in a pain-induced haze. It takes him a few moments to wrap his head around the situation. 

There must be a baby-sitter here somewhere. And Peter is very much still in his suit, with his blood slowly seeping out through his leg.

He curses under his breath, prompting Morgan’s eyes to fly wide before she erupts into laughter. 

“You didn’t hear that.”

“I did!”

Tony is going to kill him. _Pepper_ is going to kill him.

“Okay, you caught me. Can it be our secret?”

Morgan’s forehead crinkles up. She thinks about it for a few seconds before nodding.

“Thank you.” Peter haphazardly shoves the supplies back into the cabinet, so that Morgan won’t hurt herself with anything, and then lowers her from the counter to the ground. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to get changed.”

He ducks into one of the bedrooms, where he has a few changes of clothes. He shoves his suit into one of the drawers and arranges other things in front of it in case the baby-sitter starts snooping for any reason.

Morgan’s still playing with her repulsor gloves when he returns, fake-shooting at random objects around the living room.

Her eyes land on Peter and she quickly holds the glove up at him. “Intruder alert!”

Peter chuckles, shaking his head. “What are your parents up to tonight?”

“A very important, grown-up event,” she recites.

“Fair enough.” 

He makes his way back over to the medical cabinet because the bloody web fluid isn’t going to cut it for much longer. His head is already starting to feel a little light. 

Morgan follows him over to it, bouncing around and trying to jump onto his back. Peter doesn’t think she should watch him stitch his skin together.

“Is your baby-sitter around?”

“I dunno.”

Peter frowns. It seems odd. If he hadn’t shown up, Morgan would have been left alone for at least 15 minutes at this point. He knows that Tony and Pepper didn’t hire someone inattentive. They conducted an intense screening process that spanned months before they hired the lady.

“What’s her name?”

“Ms. Williams.”

“Alright.”

Peter hobbles down the hallway, peeking in each room. In the office area, there’s someone sitting on the chair in the dark, head on the desk.

“Ms. Williams?”

There’s no response. He takes a hesitant step inside, knocking on the already open door. “Ms. Williams?”

He flicks on the light. There’s still no movement. 

He approaches her slowly, eyes glued to the back of her head. There’s something wrong—she’s too still, and some of her hair is matted. It looks damp. 

The bottom of his foot presses into something sharp. Peter hisses and glances down. There are pieces of shattered glass, the remnants of the base of a lamp. Even the bulb is cracked on the side.

They aren't the only ones in the apartment.

He presses two fingers to her neck, just long enough to find a pulse and then hurries out of the room.

“Morgan!”

He runs into the kitchen, eyes darting around. She’s not where she had been by the couch, or by the cabinet. 

Someone’s here—someone who was capable of bludgeoning Ms. Williams with a lamp. They could do anything to a little girl. 

He’s experienced icy panic before, where each of his limbs go stiff and still, his brain slowing to a crawl. This panic is fire, instead. He’s sweating, can feel his blood pumping hot, the sensation centralizing near the gash once again. The edges of his vision start to waver like air does around a flame.

Morgan jumps out from behind the nearest chair. “Intruder alert!”

“Oh my—oh thank god.” Peter rubs a shaky hand over his face and reaches Morgan in two strides, scooping her up and propping her against the hip of his good leg. “No games right now, okay?”

She brings her palm up to his face and makes another blaster noise. 

“I’m serious, Morgan. This is important.”

“It’s an intruder alert.” She plucks at the seams of her glove casually as she says it.

“How do you—why are you saying that? Did you see someone? Besides me?”

“FRIDAY said it, but then she stopped talking.”

Peter bites his lip and looks around the apartment warily. Every corner that had felt safe is now shadowy and ominous. The hairs on his arms are standing on end, goosebumps speckling his skin. Somehow, he still feels hot. 

They need to leave. He’s not in a great condition for confrontation, but he can’t abandon Ms. Williams. He shifts some of his weight, testing his injured leg, and grimaces at the spasming pain and the way his brain becomes static-filled. But it’s not the worst he’s had. It’s manageable. He can carry both of them out.

“Okay. Morgan, can you do me a favor and close your eyes until I tell you to open them?”

“You said no games.”

“I know. Please.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t want her to see the state of the office—or the state of Ms. Williams.

“It’s important, okay?”

“What’s wrong?”

Peter takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “Everything’s going to be fine. Trust me?”

She squints at Peter, doesn’t look convinced at all, but she closes her eyes anyway and sticks her face into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

He walks as quickly as he can back down the hallway, patting Morgan’s back a few times. It’s more to comfort himself than her.

A tingling sensation surges through the back of his neck and buzzes up the base of his skull. He turns automatically, bringing up a hand to block the incoming blow. Morgan shrieks and starts trying to squirm away. He tightens his grip on her to keep her in place and rips the object out of the assailant’s hands, taking a few steps back.

“Peter,” Morgan cries. She kicks out in her fear and hits the leg with the cut. Peter’s vision blacks out for a second and he staggers a few more steps back.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, not taking his eyes off the—well, it’s a kid, no more than a junior in high school. She looks more frightened than anything else.

Peter glances down at the object in his hands. It’s one of the stone statue decorations that sits by the entrance to the kitchen. First the lamp, now this.

“I’m starting to get the feeling that you don’t like the decor,” he says.

The kid blinks a few times, but otherwise doesn’t move.

Peter’s torn between dropping Morgan and telling her to run into one of the bedrooms and keeping her fastened at his side. He’s getting the impression that the kid is alone, but he could be wrong.

“I’m serious, there’s no reason that lamp had to go through that—or that baby-sitter actually, but we’re talking about furniture right now,” Peter rambles to fill the silence. “Don’t you have your own weapon you could use instead?”

As soon as the question is out of his mouth, Peter bites his tongue. He wishes he had done that sooner.

The kid’s fingers start fumbling at her waistline. Peter grimaces and continues to mentally curse his big mouth.

“It was a joke,” he attempts.

She pulls a gun out and trains it at Peter. Morgan’s sobs increase in volume.

“C’mon kid, she’s four,” Peter says. “She’s not even allowed to watch movies with guns in them.”

The gun wavers in the air as the kid’s hand shakes. Peter puts the hand not holding Morgan up and takes a step closer.

“Stay back,” the girl commands.

Peter nods and plants his feet. He should have kept his suit on, or at least his web shooters. It would make this a lot easier.

“You disabled the AI, right? That’s impressive. You’re smart. You know that shooting at us is a bad move.”

The only response is Morgan switching over from crying to hiccuping, digging her fingers into Peter’s collarbone.

“What’s your name?”

It’s the wrong question. The kid shoves the gun forward with more purpose.

“Woah, woah, just a question. Can’t we have a conversation? How about we just go into the kitchen. I can make a mean grilled cheese—I only burn them sometimes.”

She takes a step forward. “Stop talking!”

Peter raises his hand higher. “I have some trouble with that concept.”

The kid’s face twists and then she groans. “This place is usually empty! Why are you here?”

“It’s her parents' place.” Peter gestures to Morgan. “They only stay here when they’re in the city. And I crash here sometimes.”

The gun lowers a bit. “You do too?”

“Um,” Peter says. “Yes? A little different because I have a key, _but_ —“

The glare comes back in full force, gun raising to its previous height. She takes a few steps closer.

“Just let me grab the baby-sitter and we’ll leave,” Peter tries.

“You’ll call the police.”

“No, listen—“

“Yes you will!”

Morgan’s hands clamp down tighter on Peter at the raise of voice.

“Did I mention that—“

The gun fires. Peter flips out of the way, cradling Morgan under him. He rolls toward the doorframe of the nearest room and pushes her inside.

“Go under the bed. Don’t come out unless me or your parents tell you to.”

Her bottom lip sticks out as she frowns. “But—“

“Go.”

He watches her scramble underneath out of the corner of his eye while he uses the doorframe to pull himself to his feet. Flashes of light burst and then fall, zipping around the room. He gets distracted tracking one of them, then shakes his head back and forth to clear it. The motion just makes more pinpricks appear.

The kid’s still holding up the damn gun.

“Come on—“

She shoots again. Peter twists out of the way and moves as fast as he can forward, makes like he’s going for the gun and then swipes her feet out from under her instead. 

The gun bounces out of her hand and clatters to the side as she lands hard on her back. Peter kicks it away before she can try to grab it again.

Her hand comes up and grasps at Peter’s ankle, trying to yank him down. Normally, the effect by someone without enhancements would do nothing to Peter, but today when his leg jerks slightly to the side, strips of debilitating pain shoot through it.

He finds himself on the ground—doesn’t remember the fall. His heart is beating too fast—almost erratic. A gun comes into his blurry vision. 

He can’t think, so he lets instinct take over, lunging forward and twisting the barrel of the gun to the side. A shot rings out and the bullet embeds itself in a wall.

Tony’s not going to like that. If Peter had any more energy he would tell the kid as much.

He drags her down to the ground and they start rolling around, grappling for the gun. Peter lands more hits, but the numbers are closer than they should be. His movements feel sluggish and sloppy. It’s far from his most elegant fight.

It takes a few tries to knock her out, and then Peter rolls onto his back, breathing heavily. He contemplates staying there—moving sounds like the most difficult thing in the word. But Morgan’s under the bed and she’s probably scared.

He starts to push himself up. The room spins around him, clouds of black blooming in splotchy patterns. He expects them to fade away, but they grow instead and swallow him whole.

* * *

“Peter?”

The voice cuts through the darkness, rousing him slightly.

“Mo,” he mumbles.

“Can I come out now?”

He doesn't know what she’s talking about, so he just makes a noncommittal noise.

He hears footsteps, then a gasp, then some crying. That’s not good. Morgan should never cry. And the sound is too loud, too close. He can feel it echoing through the empty space where his brain should be.

“D’cry.”

He feels a hand on his stomach, patting around. Then it goes into his pocket. There’s still crying.

“S’okay—all good.”

There’s a distant beeping, like a phone dial tone. It’s a nice rhythmic sound. He likes it better than the crying. If he focuses on it, the rest starts to drift away again.

_“Mommy, come back. Please.”_

* * *

Peter wakes up to pain. There’s pressure on his thigh—too much. He starts writhing around in an attempt to escape it.

“Come on, Pete, stay still.”

“Stop. Please.”

The pressure eases momentarily before returning to its original strength. Peter winces.

“Welcome back.” The words are tinged with relief. “You lost a lot of blood. There's an ambulance on the way.”

"Can't go to hospital."

"It's a special ambulance. Don't worry."

Peter cracks his eyes open. There are gloved hands covered in blood, pressing down on a pile of bandages on his thigh. He looks up, struggling to get the rest of the person to come into focus. There’s a very expensive-looking suit that probably was never meant to be this close to blood and a pristinely manicured goatee.

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles.

The crinkles around Tony’s eyes soften. “Hey, kid.”

There’s someone on the floor behind Tony, a gun laying a few feet away from her. It brings the rest back.

He tries to sit up. “Morgan?”

“She’s fine.” Tony clamps a hand over his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. “Don’t move.”

He wishes Tony had said that before he tried to, because the room’s spinning now—colors merging or fading in and out in abstract patterns.

“Don’t be mad,” he whispers. “Just looking for a place to stay.”

“The kid?”

Peter nods. Or he thinks he’s nodding. He hopes he’s nodding.

“Worry about that later alright? Just focus on staying awake.”

“Listen,” Peter slurs. “Just a kid—don’t. She's scared.”

“I hear you. I’ll keep her out of too much trouble. You keep those eyes open.”

It’s hard, but he tries. He keeps them open until the paramedics arrive, and then as he’s lifted and carried into the ambulance. 

Tony’s still next to him. He squeezes his shoulder and nods once. Peter decides that means it's safe to close his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr!](https://peterparkrr.tumblr.com)


End file.
